


together we're just the right kind of stupid

by drakarifire



Series: the universe won't see us end [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Explicit Language, F/M, Found Family, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It might show up later idk, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakarifire/pseuds/drakarifire
Summary: sometimes you need to just give up your entire life and move in with your middle school best friends.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, The Losers Club & Beverly Marsh
Series: the universe won't see us end [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538425
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	together we're just the right kind of stupid

**Author's Note:**

> I need to write my nano but also I need Ben and Bev to have a soft moment because I love them. 
> 
> I literally just wrote this this morning on my phone instead of sleeping so like. No Betas, we die like men I guess.

“I’m not ready to let this go.” Beverly whispered, her eyes trained on the Losers talking animatedly in front of her. Mike’s hearty laughter reverberating through the room and down into her toes. The crinkle in the corners of Bill’s eyes before he tossed his head back and joined in, hand pressed against his chest. Stan’s shoulders shaking with barely suppressed mirth as his head buried against his knees. Richie’s animated gestures and booming words slipping seamlessly in and out of a dozen voices, even as his arm never left Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie laughing with childish giggles and lacking any of the weight he’d been caring since she’d first laid eyes on him in that restaurant. 

Her cheek nuzzled further into Ben’s bicep, body shifting to press tighter into the circle of his arms. Funny. The difference between men. If she’d ever felt Tom’s arms around her like this, or her father’s, she’d have felt like a trapped animal. Confined in a tight cage waiting for- for something. Waiting for a soft caress or a swift kick in equal measure. 

From men like that the gestures might as well have been the same. 

Both made her want to shed her skin and claw herself down to the marrow. 

Oh, but Ben. 

Ben and Bill and Richie and Eddie and Mike and Stan. 

Not men, her boys. Hers. 

She’d grown up in a world where men were dark and dangerous, had been forced to forget her own power against them. She surrounded herself with one horrible person after another, certain that she must have done some cosmic wrong to deserve this. Letting herself sink into a life where she walked on the tips of her toes, held her breath, and dreamed of dying. Where make-up wasn’t a choice, not when an artist full of anger and resentment used your face for a canvas. Painting purple on pale skin with a crooked smile. 

She’d been forced to forget this. To forget them. A vacancy in her heart where the sensation of experiencing genuine love had once resided. 

Each of the men in this room had come to rescue her more than once, dropped their fears to wage war in her honor like the knights from a story book. Each one of them could wrap their arms around her and she’d feel like home. 

She sighed, and Ben’s fingers stilled momentarily in their gentle caress of her scalp. Captivated by the rush of warm breath against skin. 

“When I moved to Portland…” her voice was soft, and hazily distant with memory. She could feel Ben move just enough to rest his head over her shoulder. Close enough to hear so she didn’t have to raise her voice any farther. It made her feel warm. Such a small thing, a tiny, silent gesture and yet it birthed a sun in the tight confines of her ribs. “I remember packing and thinking, maybe I could-“ she laughs softly, “Maybe I could fit Eddie in this bag, maybe I could hide Richie in this suitcase.” 

Her eyes closed, burying her face into his arm. When she laughed again there was a distinctly wet sound to it. A shake to her shoulders she couldn’t hide even if she wanted to. Not when his chest was pressed flush against her back. 

Ben’s fingers found her hair again. She tried to ground herself in the gentle scrape of nails against her scalp. 

“I wanted so badly to take you all with me. I wanted to pack you all into my aunt’s car and hide you in my room.” She didn’t even know if he could understand, she hadn’t moved. Her words muffled against his skin. “I almost thought about staying…”

For a moment so brief his body went rigid and then relaxed. 

“I’m glad you didn’t.” It was said so simply, without an ounce of hesitation that she might have cried. Said by anyone else those words would have hurt like a physical punch, but on Ben’s tongue they carried something different. Concern. Love. “I hate that we lost so much time, but I don’t hate you getting out of that house. Getting away from him.” 

She wanted to smile because she loved him so much it hurt across every version of herself. It hurt in the heart of her 13 year old body who didn’t understand the difference between love and infatuation. It hurt in the versions of her out in the universe who got to have this. Who got to spend date night in high school curled up in these arms, who got to go to college and buy a house and grow with him. It hurt in the dead versions of herself; the ones killed by clowns and the ones killed by men. 

“I don’t think I ever got away. Not really.” She wanted to smile but her mind wasn’t in it and the words she hadn’t wanted to speak had been hidden for long enough. “I kept going back to him Ben. I kept forgetting this…forgetting what it was like to fight for myself. To have something better.” 

He was quiet so she let herself be quiet. At least for a moment. 

“I’m not ready to let this go.” A repeat, but a weighted truth. She wasn’t, she’d never be. She’d moved away from them once already and it had destroyed everything inside of her that had been strong and able. She knew now that she’d always remember and that she was Beverly Marsh. That she’d faced down her fears and taken her power back with her own two hands. She knew that wouldn’t go away when they all separated, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t weak to want your family at your side. They made her strong and she made them strong and they’d already lost so much time...who said they needed to lose any more?

She wanted to grow old with the people in this room. She wanted to sit in a row of rockers on the porch of some old folk’s home listening to Richie and Eddie bitch, watching the wrinkles on Bill’s face, and feeling Ben’s arms around her shoulders. 

Slowly Ben moved her. Turning her in his arms so she could look at his face. She realized belatedly that he’d been talking but her mind felt so far away just then. She blinked up at him dazedly, leaning into the weight of his palm against her cheek. Smiling as his lips pressed chaste and loving against hers. 

“We don’t have to let go.” He whispered into the air between them. “If you asked us all to live in a shack in the middle of the woods I think we’d do it. After everything I think we’re all just waiting for someone to say it first, to ask first.” 

It was stupid and childish and it made no sense. To move into a house together with your middle school best friends after 27 years apart. To drop their lives and sell their homes and act like college kids moving out for the first time. Who would go for that? Who would think that was a sane and viable idea? 

Ben’s eyes never strayed from her face, one brow arching up towards his hairline. The start of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. Barely detectable if she wasn’t currently in his lap and a hair’s width away from his face. 

The Losers, that look said. The Losers that’s who. 

Turning, Beverly studied her boys again. Watching their laughter, catching the end of Richie’s story. Enjoying the sound of joy as it broke like a wave over the people she loved above anything else in the world. 

“Hey losers!” All eyes were on her, their laughter still evident in the wide smiles on their faces. Smiles that dimmed at the shine of tears in her eyes and the tracks she could feel drying on her cheeks. 

“You alright Bev?” Bill made like he was going to close the distance between them, shifting to his knees on the mattresses. 

She grinned in response, “Let’s move in together.” 

For a moment there was silence, eyes darting across faces. Uncertainty and something else crackling in the air between them. Something powerful. 

She could almost picture the silent conversation in the air around them. 

“Fuck it.” Eddie said, “I sure-as-shit am not going back to my wife.” 

Richie was beaming at him, face bright and open and just...proud. Like Eddie had won an Oscar. “Hell yeah Spaghetti!” He pulls him tighter against his chest, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well you know me Bev, I’ll go wherever this tiny ball of unrestrained fury wants.” 

“For the LAST fucking time. I. Am. Normal. Height. You goddamn giraffe.” 

“As long as we visit Florida on the way to wherever.” Mike shrugged, “I’ve been missing you guys for the past twenty seven years and if I’m being honest the only thing that scares me more than that damn clown was having to say goodbye again when it was all said and done.” 

Bill reached over to give Mike’s arm a squeeze, then glanced at Stan. “Guess that just leaves us huh?” 

Beverly couldn’t help but feel a touch of something icy in her chest. Bill and Stan had wives and lives that weren’t as easy to uproot as the rest of theirs seem to be. If Bill wasn’t there, if Stan wasn’t. Then none of this would be worth much of anything. 

Stan’s eyes drifted down to his bandaged wrists, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I kind of don’t know if Patty even wants to see me again.” 

“Same with me and Audra.” 

It went unsaid, hanging in the air heavy and suffocating. They’d all left in a whirlwind, vanished so fast the blowback had knocked giant holes in the lives they’d built. For some, like Richie and Ben the holes were repairable. For Bev and Eddie the holes needed to be made bigger, entire walls and frameworks torn down before they could ever be themselves. For Stan and Bill the holes could be filled if they tried hard enough, if they wanted it enough. 

They just needed to make that decision. 

“We don’t have to decide right now.” Ben said quietly, “At least not about-“ 

“Yes.” Stan’s voice made them pause. His eyes were fiery, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I almost lost this. I was stupid and I almost-“ he choked on the words and Bill’s hand instantly intertwined their fingers. It gave him the strength to continue, breath shuddering through his sternum. “I loved Patty- I do love her, but I was dead. I was dead and I didn’t know it, not until…”

“Hey. Hey it’s okay.” Bill’s free hand found its way into Stan’s hair, brushing through the tangled curls as gently as he could. “You’re here. You’re with us.” 

Stan leaned into that. Sank into it. Closed his eyes and let Bill wrap his arms around him. 

“So are we really doing this?” Bill said, and his eyes met each of them in turn. “This isn’t like...a killer clown mi-m-midlife crisis?” 

“The thought of booking a flight was fucking killing me.” Richie muttered, and something about his voice made Eddie crawl into his lap and curl his arms around his waist almost protectively. “I don’t care if it sounds sappy as fuck but I don’t think I can handle being on my own again. I really can’t guys.” He shook his head, hand lifting to pinch his eyes shut beneath his glasses. “You know how you get yourself a good thing and then you realize how fucking close you were to falling apart?” 

“Richie…” Bev whispered, and she was glad she was close enough to reach. That Ben’s arms opened without a word from her so she could put a hand on Richie’s knee. 

“I know it’s- it’s fucking stupid. I hate saying it but. Fuck. If there was one thing to thank that clown for it’s this.” He looked at all of them, at Bev, but his gaze caught on Eddie’s and didn’t let go. “I knew what I was missing and I was going to die if I didn’t have it back. I was going to drink myself into oblivion or some other fucked up tabloid disaster. I could feel it in my bones.” 

Eddie kissed him. Fierce and protective, hand against Richie’s face, holding him close. They held like that, Bev could count the beat of her heart: once, twice, three times, before they pulled apart. 

Not completely. Eddie’s hand still lingered, their breath mingling between them. Richie was smiling soft and sweet. 

“So um- yeah.” Richie cleared his throat, not breaking eye contact with Eddie even as he addressed them all. “This isn’t a midlife crisis for me. This is the real deal. I want to live with all of you until you’re sick of me.” He finally looked up, and there was something vulnerable in his voice. 

“We’ll never get sick of you Trashmouth.” she chuckled, and let Richie take her hand from his knee. Finally breaking eye contact with Eddie and the silent conversation she knew he was having, to meet her gaze and lean forward enough to press her knuckles to his lips. 

“Thanks Red.” 

The grin that spread across her features was the dawn. It was the bright promise of a new morning and a new life. Things would be difficult, her divorce and Eddie’s, possibly even Bill’s and Stan’s, but they’d have each other. For the first time since that summer she could envision a whole future again. 

It made her feel complete. 

——- 

There were things to do and things to say. There wasn’t a guidebook about uprooting your life and running off to live with your six friends, like they were teenagers and not forty-somethings with set lives and ingrown patterns. The chaos was ever present but welcoming in its own way. Phone calls, discussions about where to live, and then mulling over listings in a desperate attempt to buy something now. Something they could run to and finally, completely leave Derry ( and frankly Maine ) behind. 

She loved the feeling of activity. The flurry of things coming together. Loved watching Bill take charge, Richie crack jokes, and Stan play the deciding factor when they got stuck at a crossroads. 

“Trust me, it’s the right choice.” 

“How do you know?” 

He shrugged, “I just do.” 

Mostly though she loved the feel of Ben’s hand in hers as he pulled her from the collection of beds and out into the hallway. She loved hearing the voices of their friends ringing out behind her, but ached for the gentle loving silence of his company in a different way. Her skin catching fire the moment the door closed behind them and she was pulled into his embrace, crashing against his lips. 

She’d felt so many rough hands on her skin in her lifetime. Her wrists still carried the bruises from the last man who’d thought himself more powerful than her. 

Ben was strong but his touch was soft, the caress of a summer breeze. Gentle but feeding the flames of her fire like gasoline. Fanning her into a blaze as her hands sought his face, her body gravitating into his. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” And he peppered them into her lips like brands. As if she didn’t know it already, as if he needed to remind her. 

“I love you.” Her mouth pressed to his jaw, “I love you.” She pictured her flames licking at his skin, not burning hot, but making him shiver. Making him moan as she trailed her confession down his neck. “I love you.” She wanted to say it to every inch of him, her hands digging under his shirt. Her palms pressing flat against his chest, before moving to grasp at his sides. Lean hard muscles, firm but the skin above them yielded enticingly to the press of her fingers. 

They navigated in each other’s space. Too desperate for touch to separate, too hungry for each other’s lips after so much time. Stumbling like drunks into the first room whose door opened for them. 

She wanted and wanted and wanted. She was a fire. January embers. There was so much she wanted to forget and so much she still needed to remember, and all of those answers could be found right here. In Ben’s arms. The soft gentle kisses of the hallway gave way to desperate, searing heat. Like they were trying to steal the oxygen from each other’s lungs. 

His knees hit the bed and he collapsed, pleased to feel that this room at least still had a mattress. The springs creaking beneath his weight and then hers as she climbed onto his lap. 

He was Ben; not Tom, not her father. 

Soft, gentle, loving Ben. 

Who stopped and broke their kiss, heaving for air- his fingers trembling on the clasps to her bra. To look into her face and breathe out a simple, adoring: “Is this okay?” Giving her any chance to say no, to stop. Sliding the control squarely into her lap and making her wonder how it could ever be possible to love one human being so much that your soul was singing. 

Her hands cupped his face, thumbs rubbing the planes of his cheekbones. To think that once upon a time she’d been blind to that look, that she hadn’t realized he always looked at her like that. Like she was something bright and bold and beautiful. 

“I love you.” She says it again, and there’s tears of joy pricking at the corners of her eyes. She bends, captures his lips in a kiss, grinds her hips slowly down on his. It’s a small kiss, short enough that she doesn’t miss the way his breath hitches in a moan.

When she pulls back, her fingertips brush at his hair, and she hopes that he can see she’s looking at him the same way. With everything she has set up right there on her face like a movie. Expressive and open and unafraid. “I’ve had no control of myself- my body for too long.” There’s sadness eclipsing his features but she can’t let it stop her from saying what she needs to say. “I’ve let people walk all over me, crush me under their shoes, and bury me in so much shit I couldn’t breath.” She leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, breathing in his smell- letting him surround her. “Right here? Right now? I feel like myself for the first time. I feel free, I feel like I deserve good things for once in my life.” 

“You’ve always deserved good things Beverly.” He whispers, “Always.” 

She has to close her eyes so she doesn’t cry. So she doesn’t see the raw, open sincerity staring back at her even though she can hear it in his voice. She doesn’t want their first time to be with her crying, though she supposes with all the emotions of the last few days, it can’t be helped. 

Plus, if crying means she gets to be held in those arms until she stops, is that so bad? 

“I’m finally starting to believe that New Kid.” She whispers, and despite the tears that she knows start to fall the second she opened her eyes again, she’s smiling. “I really am.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The losers moving in together and snuggling every night is the hill I'm prepared to die on. 
> 
> Bonus points for whoever can pinpoint the exact moment I chickened out of writing smut.


End file.
